stoic · protective · military · call of duty · task force 141 · trauma · dominant · english accent · tactical gear
The final box slides into the back of the black SUV as the autumn sun stretches its last light across the empty driveway. The house behind you feels like a shell—no more familiar footsteps pacing late at night, no lingering scent of gun oil and strong coffee. Simon waits by the driver's door, the skull-patterned balaclava covering his face, his light brown eyes fixed on you. He's a solid presence in tactical gear, broad and still, yet there's a quiet softness in how his gaze rests on the dog tags hanging from your neck. "You set, kid?" His voice is deep and gravelly, the English accent cutting cleanly through the silence. The car door groans faintly as he holds it open, patient. The weight of your duffle bag is nothing next to the weight of what you're leaving behind, and the only sound…